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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29118699">What Happens in NOLA, Stays in NOLA</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBAgent16/pseuds/IBAgent16'>IBAgent16</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Description, Happy Ending, Kinktober2020, New Orleans, Over 18 but Under 21, SciOps, Smut, Tourists can be dumb but we still need them, Underage Drinking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:55:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,066</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29118699</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBAgent16/pseuds/IBAgent16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Professionals Leopold Fitz and Jemma Simmons attend their first conference after leaving S.H.I.E.L.D Academy.  As anyone who's ever attended a meeting in that quintessential city of New Orleans, Louisiana can attest, no visit is ever complete without a night out on the town in the French Quarter. It's amazing what changes can occur just over night. Only these weren't the memories Leo Fitz expected to be making with the most important person in his life on a Wednesday night in America's most passionate city. Laissez les bon temps rouler!</p><p>Inspired by true events. In honor of Mardi Gras 2021 and the Krewe of House Floats. </p><p>A FitzSimmons Love Letter to the City of New Orleans.  Where better to go from friends to lovers?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodlineBarnes/gifts">BloodlineBarnes</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Anyone who has ever visited New Orleans, Louisiana will tell you the city has its own pulse, its own character, its own soul. There is a reason why meeting planners choose this Creole-Cajun city for so many trade shows, conferences and meetings. Why so many sporting events, bowl games, and other gatherings are held here. Add up the water shed of the whole US and it doesn't equal what the mighty Mississippi sends past New Orleans each and every day, bringing the trade, the taste, the timbre of the entire nation with it. New Orleans is America's City, like none other. Walk along her streets, feel her breathe. </p><p>So it's fitting to say that NOLA is arguably the third main character in this story, just as important as Fitz or Simmons. And if that city would talk, oh the stories it could tell. And the amount of black mail money it could raise! Surely it could easily outdo Vegas in a heartbeat! I'll leave the reader to ponder which moments herein are fictional, embellished or devastatingly accurate. FitzSimmons' tale is an amalgam of all three with multiple sources.  </p><p>The work is in honor of Mardi Gras 2021 and the Krewe of House Floats (https://www.kreweofhousefloats.org/), who have managed to figure out a way to keep this New Orleans tradition alive in these Covid times. I was so honored to be welcomed so many times over the years by this city and have always held a special place in my heart for it. It warms my heart to see that once again, in the face of adversity, NOLA's people continue to keep NOLA's traditions. So any way I can support that, here goes. And of course, NOLA's always lived on the edge. </p><p>This work is gifted to Bloodline Barnes. Without the Kinktober 2020 list, I'd still be rattling around on a bunch of Word documents. This probably isn't what Barnes had in mind, but it got me off my duff and gave me a goal. As Sondheim would said, I'm late, but I'm here. It might be in one fic, but I'm here. Better late than never. Maybe? But it is my first fic for Ao3 so thanks.  </p><p>Last but not least to my most excellent beta, Saintdragonslayer. Thanks for everything.   -- Linda Avery</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If you happened to be a couple of inconveniently underage doctors out on the town after a long day at conference, New Orleans was the town to be out on.</p><p>Leopold Fitz and Jemma Simmons were strangers in a strange land when it came to antiquated American alcohol consumption laws. Never mind that they had been drinking at home across the pond under their parents’ supervision since they were young teenagers as well as on their own for several years now. Never mind that they had six advanced degrees between them. Nevertheless, where there is a will, there is a way. As it happens, any number of Adult Beverage vendors turned a blind eye to the portion of their activities that contributed to the corruption of those who wished to be corrupted - young or old, pure or already terribly happy - at any and every turn on Bourbon Street, assisted by the open carry ordinance in the French Quarter.</p><p>Which was how Leo Fitz found himself on that legendary street where fortunes are made and lives are changed, holding a Hurricane in one hand, a Grenade in the other and a bottle of water in each trouser pocket - hypnotized by Jemma Simmons as she left her deep red lipstick on an incredibly lucky straw when she sucked down some blue concoction, while gyrating around in a black crop top and low riding wrap skirt on the sidewalk in front of the open window as the bar band blared, in which their legal age colleagues were actually inside of.</p><p>It was not exactly where he expected to be at eleven-forty on a Wednesday night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Since this is not only a love letter for FitzSimmons, but also for the City of New Orleans, I've included hyperlinks so that you can be part of the merry band that goes along the journey with these two crazy kids.  Just remember to right click to open in a separate tab.  -- Linda Avery</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day had started out early, if typically, with a continental breakfast at registration, just before the plenary at eight-thirty. It was their first conference after having left the Academy and moving to Science Operations, their badges sporting ribbons identifying them as “Young Professionals.” It was unusual for this particular standards meeting of the ACS to have a track such as theirs. But if someone was seeking to engage millennials toward getting more involved in the stodgy old <a href="https://www.acs.org/content/acs/en/meetings/events-calendar.html">Chemical Society</a>, then it just might be working if the number of twenty and thirty somethings pouring into the Happy Hour Poster Session for the free booze and finger food was any indicator. Thankfully, whoever had scheduled it had realized that the younger set did need to be wooed differently. It was a pretty fun reception, held at the <a href="https://audubonnatureinstitute.org/aquarium">Aquarium</a> down on the waterfront. No stuffy suits for them – it seemed that everyone had gotten the memo that they were done working and could dress down. They were looking forward to heading out on the town when the reception was over.</p><p>Still, it was hard to miss that FitzSimmons remained the youngest in the room at age twenty. Fitz and Milton Evans, out of Chicago, had pretty much spent the day together, having gone to all the same sessions except one. Milton and Jemma were recapping to Fitz the session they attended on <a href="https://en.wikibooks.org/wiki/Structural_Biochemistry/Enzyme/Catalytic_antibodies#:~:text=Catalytic%20antibodies%20are%20antibodies%20that,immunized%20with%20a%20hapten%20molecule.">catalytic antibodies</a> that reduced the number of steps in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reaction_mechanism">mechanisms</a> and thus overall waste products. Not to mention if you used yeast (instead of E. coli), it made the whole lab smell like bread, or even better, beer when Milton noticed that neither Jemma nor Fitz were imbibing said beer. Immediately, Milton, being of age, remedied the situation. As their little circle of “Young Professional” colleagues grew around their Happy Hour table, they made sure that Fitz and Jemma never had to visit the bar themselves to get an actual drink.</p><p>It continued to be wonderful to hang with a group that wasn’t THAT much older than they were when the reception ended at seven. And the culinary reputation of NOLA did not disappoint. It took a bit to get a table for the group of eleven that had bonded together at the aquarium, but the wait at the restaurant just seemed to fly by. Sure, Jemma and Fitz couldn’t order a drink for themselves again, but their new friends continued to work the reception MO. And if there seemed to be a plethora of glasses on the table in the bar area they were ushered into while they were waiting, no one really noticed whose glass belonged to whom with a group that big or how old anyone really was.</p><p>When the mob was finally seated, it was a royal pain that Simmons couldn’t order the wine for the table herself. The bitch of it was Jemma knew more about wines than anyone in the group because her parents occasionally bought futures. In fact, a few years ago, at the tail end of the holiday break, her father had scored an invite to <a href="https://www.bourgogne-wines.com/professional-access/bourgogne-week-london,2334,15023.html">Bourgogne Week</a> before they had had to head back.</p><p>And holy shit! What a tasting that had been! Now, Fitz was looking at a list with some of the best wine he’d seen since he left home and someone else had to order it for Simmons. They had to hope Milton managed to memorize everything Jemma told him to. He and Jemma just rolled their eyes at each other across the table as the sommelier offered the cork to Milton who smelled it seriously. The fuckin’ weapon was then unable to let on he didn’t have a clue by damn near choking on the unfamiliar dry when he sipped on the sample. Fitz gritted his teeth into a feigned smile while he kept his fists under the table.</p><p>Jemma gently reached underneath the table to lay on hand over his. It reminded him they only had a few more months left to endure this infernal alcoholic purgatory. He reached a thumb over her index finger in acknowledgement of her message that it wasn’t the end of the world, that they didn’t know what they were doing once either. Reaching for their respective glasses that the sommelier had just filled properly (only a third of the way to allow the bowl of the glass catch the nose of the vintage), he gave her a more genuine smile as they clinked in what May would later call a “psychic” Fitzsimmons toast. They took a moment to find it was better than Jemma had hoped, then turned in opposite directions for separate conversations at the table.</p><p>Fitz spent the next ten minutes purging his four seatmates of the notion that self-important, mass-produced, California grape swill was not real wine and teaching them how this Sauvignon Blanc was, in fact, very interesting. Then came an upgrade to a truly lovely Rioja that Jemma was just mad for. And the second Rioja paired really well with the dish he had called ropa vieja - ‘old clothes’. Made sense that a Spanish wine would complement a Cuban dish in a Creole City for a Scottish lad, chuckled Fitz, though NOLA was just about the most international American city outside of New York if you wanted to be honest about it.</p><p>The group laughed and talked about every kind of topic through dinner from chemistry to engineering, politics to people, wine to whisky, sports to sewing, movies to music. By the time the check came, everyone had a second wind and was ready to hit the infamous <a href="https://www.neworleans.com/plan/streets/bourbon-street/">Bourbon Street</a> once the check was handled.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A classic NOLA "whirlwind" blows through from Pat O'Brien's.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As FitzSimmons and their newfound friends walked through the <a href="https://www.neworleans.com/plan/neighborhoods/french-quarter/">French Quarter</a>, it was hard not to admire the <a href="https://www.frenchquarter.com/quarterarchitecturetypes/">architecture</a> of the closed store fronts that they had missed while stuck in sessions during the day. They looked in the shop windows, wondering what talks they could possibly skip out on to go investigate the treasures they were missing when they were open. As the music got louder, it became difficult to discern the exact genre they were hearing. It soon became clear that it was blurred because the bars had their windows open, to entice patrons to investigate while trying to block out the din of the other establishments. </p><p> </p><p>But soon they also realized it was all recorded music. Apparently, live music didn’t start playing until ten-thirty, which seemed like an unusual time, and they had arrived just shy of that time. So, Sally Webber, out of Atlanta, announced that they just HAD to go to <a href="https://patobriens.com/new-orleans/">Pat O’Brien’s</a>, some kind of New Orleans icon. At least three people, including Fitz, groaned at being taken in by such a quintessential tourist trap, but was overruled by five others, including Jemma, declaring it would be fun. Off trotted the merry band, dragging the naysayers. </p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, the bar wouldn’t let FitzSimmons in, doctorates be damned, even if they promised not to drink. Instead, they referred them to the restaurant. Normally, they would have been in for another massively long wait, cutting into their music time. But since they were only there for dessert which only had three options and the group was willing to perch on the patio, they were accommodated quickly. Jemma Simmons could be very persuasive when she was out to get something, backed up by the small herd’s insistence on taking up all the space in the restaurant’s small entry way to the exclusion of every other potential patron. Fitz spent the rest of dessert in a deep conversation with Lance Hunter, with the SAS, who revealed the brilliant after fitba, "block up the way into the restaurant" tactic when Sally asked him about it, expecting it was some kind of military maneuver. The Brits once they realized they shared a passion for 'real' football, and having missed each other being at opposite ends of the dinner table, got completely lost in their own conversation to the exclusion of everyone else.  </p><p> </p><p>Thirty minutes later, the time came to start settling the bill. Fitz noticed Jemma leaning over to whisper into the ear of a guy out of LA by the name of Mike Peterson. Nice enough, Fitz though wondered just how nice Jemma thought he was. Tall, fit, good looking, Fitz couldn’t help himself every time Jemma even looked at another guy. There he was, stuck in the best friend zone and there he was likely to stay stuck. That’s what he got for getting wrapped up in footie. Fitz might be good at solving some problems, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to solve this one. He let out a breath and wondered what Mike could do for her that he couldn’t that didn’t involve being over two meters tall.</p><p> </p><p>Fitz found out soon enough when the waiter came out with two vivid drinks to go. Mike accepted them, along with the bill, handing over his credit card. Jemma kissed him on the cheek, then handed him over a wad of cash which Mike attempted to refuse. Instead, she shoved it down the front of his trouser pockets while Mike tried to squirm away, unsuccessfully blocked by the table.</p><p> </p><p>Fitz felt like he was watching a train wreck. And just like a train wreck, he couldn’t help himself from watching as much as he knew he shouldn’t. He couldn’t stand the idea that Jemma was shoving her hands down into Mike’s pocket and how close that would bring her to other parts of another guy's anatomy. He knew it wasn’t any of his business what Jemma did, but it made him jealous as hell. But at the same time, he felt for the guy because what was he supposed to do next in a public situation, even given that opening? Even though he’d give anything to switch places with Mike, Fitz didn’t think he’d make good on the opportunity any better than Mike was.</p><p> </p><p>Simmons whispered again in his ear, then kissed Mike on the cheek again. He nodded in rueful acquiescence. Fitz knew that look. When Jemma wanted something, she knew how to wear a man down.  </p><p> </p><p>Once outside and a bit down the street, Jemma retrieved the drinks from Mike. Then surprisingly, she said, “Here!” unceremoniously, shoving both drinks at Fitz. She then proceeded to hug the flustered stuffing out of Mike, leaving the confused Fitz to ponder the drinks quizzically.</p><p> </p><p>Simultaneously, both Mike and Fitz mumbled, “Oooh-kay?” for entirely different reasons. The rest of the merry band broke up in laughter, with Milton laughing so hard he almost doubled over on the sidewalk. Sally quipped that the dual reaction was so perfectly timed, it wouldn’t have come off better if they had rehearsed it. Fitz didn’t exactly appreciate the observation as much as Mike did, but then Mike got the better end of the deal in Fitz’s opinion. Score another one for the guy from LA.</p><p> </p><p>The group broke into couples and trios as they started walking back to Bourbon Street. As Jemma retrieved the flamboyant blue drink, leaving Fitz holding the gaudy red one, Mike continued, still slightly nonplussed. “What was that for?”</p><p> </p><p>“For getting me my Hurricane.” Jemma proceeded to take a long draw from the drink in front of her. Offering it to Mike, “Want a sip?” </p><p> </p><p>Mike chuckled, jabbing a thumb back at Pat’s, “I had one, when in Rome and all that jazz. But that’s not…”</p><p> </p><p>“…a hurricane, I know, I’m saving it for next. This is for Fitz.”</p><p> </p><p>That got Fitz’s attention. “Wot?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re holding the <a href="https://patobriens.com/drinks">Hurricane</a>,” gestured Jemma to the red monstrosity that Fitz looked down at. “That’s the New Orleans classic. It’s one of those things you’ve got to experience, like getting beignets at Café DuMonde. But this Skylab caught my eye and made me think of the aerospace engineer in my life. Wanna sip, rocketman?” Jemma took another long draw, eyes looking up at Fitz, innocently unaware of the way her red lips wrapped around the straw.</p><p> </p><p>As she rocked her body side to side, waiting for him to answer, he had the barely coherent thought that she couldn’t be that unaware of what she looked like, could she? In any case, he definitely wasn’t doing any better than Mike.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe later,” he croaked.</p><p> </p><p>“Suit yourself.” Jemma turned and started walking down the street backward, so she could continue talking to both Mike and Fitz. “I expect you to help me finish them, Fitz. They pack quite the wallop, alcohol wise, and it’s not like we haven’t packed away a serious amount tonight. We will still have to be reasonably coherent tomorrow even if we aren’t presenting, thank god.” She gave them a pointed look again, while giving the Skylab straw three deliberate, good, deep sucks before she spun around and bounced down the street to join Sally and another girl, bumping shoulders and laughing up a storm, just in front of <a href="https://www.preservationhall.com/about/">Preservation Hall</a>.</p><p> </p><p>Mike leaned over to Fitz. “She always like this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Definitely dialed up to eleven,” Fitz responded without taking his eyes off the trio. “But yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“How do you handle it, man?”</p><p> </p><p>“I ask myself that a lot…” he replied absently, as he took his first sip of the Hurricane.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>No visit to the French Quarter is complete with a walk down Bourbon Street after dark...But just how do you get someone to Throw me somethin', Mister?</p><p>Don't forget to right click the links to bring them up in a separate browser.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Now that is a sight…” said Milton as he walked up to join Fitz and Mike on the street outside Pat O'Briens. He proceeded to whistle to himself as he continued to evaluate what the now trio of guys saw up the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three women ahead of them were dressed very differently but all were prepared to hit the town in their own way. Sally’s flouncy top fluttered in the ever-present wind of the port city, billowing in and out offering a teasing sight of the curve of her under breasts that were not encased in a bra. In contrast, her long, frilly, flowered skirt would split with each step, leaving no doubt her legs led up to make a proper ass of themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Not to be outdone, blonde Bobbie, out of Miami, was a downright Amazon, standing almost one point eight meters without shoes. With the peep toe platform CFMPs from Chinese Laundry that she was somehow traipsing effortlessly around in, she stood just about two meters. Complete in a black mock turtleneck halter with a leather mini skirt, she just Long Cool Woman’d everywhere she went.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And then there was Jemma, the most petite of the three. Fitz swore she was at the Happy Hour reception in a conservative black dress with sleeves almost down to her wrists. But now? He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she swung the dangerously low-slung skirt side to side with each step she took down Bourbon Street. Technically, it was long enough to be proper since it reached her ankle, but there was this slit on the side, so it seemed to show a different amount of her leg with each step. Sometimes it was a little, sometimes it was a lot. It drove him mad.<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there was the wide expanse of creamy skin exposed above her skirt band, the soft slight curve on her abdomen that was so…feminine. Her crop top just skimmed above where that curve met her belly button, held up with thin straps over her shoulder. A second strap on her right shoulder had her bag slung across to her left hip. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And that was it.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>That was it.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Where the HELL did the sleeves go that she was wearing at the reception??</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fitz didn’t have much time to really consider what kind of voodoo Jemma had employed to go from day to night, because they had really pay attention all of a sudden to navigating around the other patrons on the main drag.  The male trio decided it had been a most excellent view until several other guys magically just appeared to block their view as the female trio of their group walked down Bourbon Street trying to figure out where they wanted to go. But then the other members of their group had caught up with them nearby, checking out marquees and windows of various venues, trying to decide what place they wanted to hop into.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time they all came together again, the girls' lipstick was smeared and they each were wearing several strands of Mardi Gras beads. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Pay up," said Lance, hitting Milton in the chest. "I told you no one stays innocent in New Orleans."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mike snorted.  "You bet against Jemma, didn't you?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>"And Sally," admitted Milton, forking over twenty bucks to the officer whose status as a gentleman had yet to be determined.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"Hey wait," said Bobbi. "That's only twenty.  What about me?"</p><p> </p><p>"No offense, love," drawled Lance, "but even Milton wasn't stupid enough to bet against you. Everything about you is wicked."</p><p> </p><p>Bobbi looked him over, head to toe, before answering with a blink of her eyes.  "None taken."</p><p> </p><p>"Well," Milton started again, "what I want to know is how you got them. I got double or nothing riding the answer to this one..."</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Jemma merely smiled sweetly and said, "<a href="https://www.mardigrasneworleans.com/history/traditions/flashing">What happens in NOLA</a>, stays in NOLA." Sally and Bobbi made like they were zipping their lips and throwing away the key.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"FUCKIN' A!" cursed Milton as he dug out another forty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
"Told ya they'd earn them fair and square," quipped the military man who had seen more than his fair share of Girls Gone Wild weekends. "First round is on Milton, lads! Oh, and the ladies," he remembered to add when he realized he had three sets of very annoyed eyes staring at him. "Have we decided on where we're goin' yet?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A couple out of the Midwest whose names Fitz couldn't remember said the bar a few doors down had something truly unique and New Orleans – <a href="https://www.frenchquarter.com/zydeco/">Zydeco</a>. When they got there, try as they might, they could not sneak in Fitz and Jemma. They were SOL. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A rather substantive argument occurred on the sidewalk with the group of fast new friends. The nine did not want to abandon Fitz and Jemma and Fitz and Jemma did not want to be the buzzkills. Indeed, they were used to being left out because of their age. If anything, they had had a better night than they were expecting by far. After much gnashing of teeth, Fitz finally made the winning argument that the nine had to get inside because they were clogging up the sidewalk and they were ALL going to be told to move on presently and they would ALL lose out and what good was that? Plus he and Jemma would get out of paying the drink or cover charge and still be able to enjoy the music mostly through the window, so they were getting the better end of the deal.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As the group got in line to pay the cover fee, Fitz started down the block but stopped when he realized Jemma wasn’t next to him. Instead he found her sidled up to Mike in line, her hand slipped into the crook of his arm. She had leaned in, to put her head on his shoulder. Fitz had caught them, just as Mike responded in kind, pulling his arm out to embrace her in a tighter, full blown side hug. Fitz watched as they jabbered away, thick as thieves, whispering in each other’s ears as they inched closer to the door. Just as their group got to the door, Jemma threw back her head and laughed, a radiant smile gracing her face, then reached over to kiss Mike on the cheek. Fitz hoped the man was smart enough to realize just how lucky he was and didn’t fuck this up.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As the group entered the bar, Jemma trotted to where Fitz had stopped. “Here, try this,” offering him the blue Skylab. He looked at her askance, but took a tentative sip, which turned out to be as terribly sweet as it looked to be. He made the “That is awful” face that he knew she expected him to (even though he tended to like terribly sweet things), and she laughed as he knew she would. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Then they walked slightly down the block to where the large opening in the wall was. In any normal establishment, there would be a bay window. But in New Orleans, it was wide open, with the band on the other side, backs to the street, so potential patrons could see what they were missing.  The <a href="https://youtu.be/2y9leVpIzv8">music</a> was somewhat muffled, but Fitz and Jemma could still hear 75% of the performance.</span>
  <span> The genre that they were most familiar with that they could call it was country, but it had a different flair.  Jemma wrapped her lips around the straw to the Hurricane…while Fitz was still holding it…took a long drag, then dove into her phone to look something up.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Damn that woman was going to kill him. Or at least a key part of his anatomy. Fitz tried to pivot around casually to adjust his trousers. He then continued to try to be casual as he leaned up against the wall of the bar, trying to avoid getting knocked by other Bourbon Street revelers careering by.  He yelled, “What are you looking up?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s he playing,” She yelled back. “Ah, a rubboard. Also called a vest frottoir. The first one was designed by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clifton_Chenier">Clifton Chenier</a> in 1946 while working at an oil refinery in Port Arthur, Texas.” She leaned over to show him the picture, letting him read the entry for himself, still yelling a bit too loud. “Too cool. Wiki says that Chenier was known as the King of Zydeco. And that accordion and spoons give the genre its unique sound.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Just then, Mike came trotting back out of the bar, with yet another monstrosity.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“WOT the HELL, Mike? She’s not even through the first one.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you better hurry up and help her out with that, buddy,” Mike grinned, clapping him on the shoulder with a camaraderie that Fitz was not exactly inclined to share with Mike at the moment. Fitz steeled himself not to glare. He must have been unsuccessful because Mike’s grin got wider and so did Jemma’s. “This,” Mike gesturing to the fluorescent green concoction, “is a <a href="https://tropicalisle.com/">Grenade</a>, yet another NOLA legend this bar is known for. We all chipped in since what we got for the table blew Milton's load plus some." When Jemma started to giggle and Fitz looked a bit uncomfortable, Mike shook his head. "That didn't come out right, did it?  Anyway, it's the least we can do since y’all are stuck out here. See, I even used ‘y’all’.” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mike then shoved the Grenade into Fitz’s free hand. Next he pulled two bottles of water out of his trouser pockets, twiddled them to show them off. “Since Jemma obviously doesn’t have any pockets of her own. We’ll be out after the set ends,” and started shoving them into Fitz’s front trouser pockets. It wasn’t exactly easy, what with phone, keys and money clip in there already, and it took him a few minutes to rearrange everything, but eventually, Mike manhandled everything into one pocket or another. Mike slapped Fitz on the back again handily.  </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” responded Fitz, a bit more crabbit than he meant to, toward someone who brought him water to dilute all the booze he was going to probably going to knock back from batting clean-up since he was obviously trying to get his best friend snockered. It wasn’t necessarily Mike’s fault that he was Simmons’ type and Fitz wasn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Jemma echoed sweetly, reaching up to the tall man, placing a hand gently on his chest as she kissed him yet again on the cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fitz could swear he saw Mike blush under his dark skin, as he smiled, “No problem, my pleasure.” Mike partially bowed before he returned to the bar, but Fitz found it strange that he turned to a few steps down the street to shout to them, “Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler!” and he jogged back into the bar.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you heard the man, drink up!” demanded Jemma. “Let’s get this one finished! I'm tired of carrying it.” </span></p><p> </p><p>"You're tired of carrying it!" he retorted. He would have ran his hand over his face or pinched the bridge of his nose if he had a free hand to do it with.</p><p>
  
</p><p>

"Just here," said Jemma, pointing the straw in the Skylab toward Fitz while she held the container, obviously expecting him to finish the beverage. Rolling his eyes, he took a deep breath and did as was expected.</p><p>
  <span> <br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He supposed that he could see her point about working on the drink that was closest to being done first but it wasn't doing anything to alleviate the predicament he was currently in. It didn't help that he had been crashed into twice while he was arguing with her and he was now wearing the top inch of the green concoction somewhere on the bottom half of his shirt. Nor did it help that Jemma had been bumped twice as many times, clearly not half as hard either, despite it being such a busy street. It was not helping his disposition to realize just how many gratuitous hands there were out there. And it wasn't just the men anymore either. Maybe misinterpreting it. Or he was being overly sensitive about it. It didn't seem to be slowing Jemma down or ruining her time. 

</span></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  Still her drink wasn’t as bad as before. The ice in the drink had melted significantly and had watered down the sweetness down quite a bit. Plus the water would help with the hydration they would both need to metabolize the alcohol. They had been doing pretty well since they had started at Happy Hour, drinking double fisted – one drink of alcohol for one drink of water, plus maintaining a responsible rate of consumption while at the reception and dinner when there was a steady supply of water nearby. But since they had left the restaurant, it was a little bit more difficult. It was hard to tell just how much alcohol was in these specialty cocktails, probably the reason Jemma thought to split them. They were notorious for not following the traditional one-hour metabolism rates. Not to mention were they measured on shots or jiggers – if they even followed these measurements at all.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Long story short – Jemma was likely to be feeling no pain any moment now. He was definitely going to have to pace himself. Good thing he really didn’t have much of a buzz anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Simmons, we have to work tomorrow, remember that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Silly Fitz, loosen up a bit. What good is being young if you can’t live a little?”  She took a sip of the Grenade in his hand, and sashayed in time with the rubboard rhythm over to the nearest trash bin to dispose of the Skylab. As she glided back empty handed, she now moved her whole body, in an almost dreamy fashion, leaning into the fiddle that was becoming prominent in the melody of the new song.</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goggled, bug-eyed at her. Where was his best friend, who loved homework more than life itself?  The rule follower? Where had this siren who was so willing to pitch caution to the wind come from?</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, Jemma? Maybe you ought to slow down a bit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” taking a slug of Hurricane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know why. People do things they regret when they drink too much. That’s why they call it liquid courage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s nonsense,” said Jemma, taking another sip. “It removes inhibitions, yes, but people only have regrets if they start out with bad decision-making ability in the first place. I happen to have very good decision-making ability. So even when I’m drunk, I still make good decisions. I don’t make decisions I regret.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fitz watched as Jemma once again sashayed away from him. That was the only word his mind could grab to describe the way she took two steps to the left, then two quick ones to the right popping her hip with what seemed like an exclamation point, then a turn. All in time with the music. She repeated the process to return to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, the people I’m out drinking with,” she continued, trading out the Grenade for the Hurricane, “that’s an entirely different story. Quite often, they regret our drunken exploits and it has, at times, had a rather negative effect on our relationship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fitz watched as Jemma dug around the neon green yard neck container, pulling out a garish piece of neon green plastic in the shape of a grenade. She sucked the excess drink off the bottom, then ran her tongue around the bottom of the grenade. Next she wrapped her lips around the barrel as she spun it around on its side a few times. She finished off by making sure the top didn’t have anything left on it either, running her tongue around the top with a quick circle and a pop of her lips before she handed the ‘prize’ to Fitz.</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you afraid you might explode?” she asked with a cheeky smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could answer with a way too honest yes, she answered for him. “Oh Fitz, you should see your face!  So much better than I told Mike it would be!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>And before he realized it, she had snapped his picture.  “Oh, this is too much…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing, Jemma?” he sputtered, totally perplexed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doubled over in unrestrained laughter, she struggled to look up at him.  “I can’t do this,” she cackled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fitz watched Jemma have a very drunk conversation with herself pacing about, trying to slow to a giggle. “It’s a time-honored rule. What happens in NOLA, stays in NOLA. But we’ll still be in NOLA tomorrow. So I could show Mike the picture tomorrow and then delete it. I wonder if it only applies to the day of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you going on about??” he demanded.                                                                                  </span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slowed enough to finally let him in on the secret. “Well, you know Mike has a terrible crush on you,” she purred with a tilt of her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fitz’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “WOT?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I made a deal,” she continued matter-of-factly, “that if he bought the Grenade, I’d get a picture for him of what you looked like when I sucked off the grenade after I dug it out of the glass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are so dead, Simmons…” said Fitz, lunging for Jemma’s phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jemma let out of an “eep,” and took off down Bourbon Street, weaving in and out between the bar goers as fast as her low-heeled sandals would take her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Music is the soul of New Orleans and Jemma shows Fitz how it buzzes in her blood...</p><p>Don't forget to right click the links to bring them up in a separate window, these are my favorite of the story! - Linda Avery</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It took Fitz a moment to realize where Jemma had gone, the Skylab, the Hurricane and the Grenade all finally taking their toll. He took a final drag of whatever he had in his hand, chucked it in the trash and took off after Simmons. He knew it wouldn’t take him long to find her, what with him in flats, plus he was faster anyway. Well okay, maybe he wasn’t. But Bourbon Street had gotten crowded and she was a wee thing. Plus he couldn’t believe that she didn’t want to not be found either.   </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He came to a stop at a crossroad, hoping to see which direction she went. He was rewarded to see her swaying in front of the window of yet another bar that they would not be able to get into. This time, though, the music was traditional <a href="https://youtu.be/pVKDOpC2G2Q">New Orleans Blues</a></span>
  <span> and her dance was far more sensuous.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She danced on the sidewalk like she was the only one the band played for. He wasn't the only one watching her either. Even on this crowded street, her dance was so alluring that it was almost as if she had a force field around her that no one could step into. The way she moved her hips were that magnetic. As he walked closer to her, he (and for that matter, like a quarter of the guys who walked past) couldn’t take their eyes off the way she swayed to the rhythm, her back facing the street. He had never known she was that musical. Did she move around the lab like this? He surely hadn’t been paying near enough attention. Or maybe it was good that he wasn’t because there was no way he would get a bloody thing done if this was how she moved. Christ, was that little bow all that was holding her skirt onto those hips?</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was a good thing it was so busy on the street as the boys needed readjusting. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Then the song’s lyrics broke through his consciousness as she continued to swivel around five meters in front of him, the curls at the ends of her hair brushing back and forth against the skin of her shoulders.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m gonna keep on, I’m gonna keep on loving you! Till the day that I die…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Just then, Jemma turned around and, as if she knew he was there all along, looked at him. Of everyone else on the street. She met his eye, continuing to dance, as though the vocalist had her words. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh they’re envious of everything that we do.</span>
  </em>
  <span> As vocalist sang, she closed her eyes, ran her hands up the back of her neck to lift up her hair, rolling her hips with the beat as the song continued -  </span>
  <em>
    <span>But I wanna say it’s wonderful, when you love someone.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Just then, Jemma popped her eyes open and met his dead on as the vocalist finished the verse - </span>
  <em>
    <span>and that someone really loves you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A female vocalist joined the haunting refrain, making Fitz’s heart almost bounce out his chest. Jemma’s gaze never parted from his for the rest of the song as she gyrated down for her drink on the sidewalk and back up again, all in time with the music. With the two crooners making vocal love on the midnight breeze, Jemma wrapped her lips around a straw while looking at him for the third time that night. Fitz was starting to get the point that it was less than a coincidence. She continued sucking on the straw while she turned toward a rubbish bin. With a final swirl of the straw, she made one last sip, deposited the Grenade cup and licked her lips, as the last strains of the melody floated away on the musky Louisiana air.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fitz was glad to see it go, though he fingered the Grenade in his pocket. He expected Jemma to walk toward him, but she faked him out. He watched her turn onto St. Ann Street, leading away perpendicular from him, but toward their hotel. Apparently, some common sense was finally coming to bear with her, that they had a full day in store ahead of them.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But a block down, he watched Jemma swerve right, down yet another side street, doubling back in the direction they came. He rushed to follow her, the <a href="https://youtu.be/AzEBH6DZJVk">sounds</a> of the same Bourbon Street bar their trusty companion again.</span>
  <span> Just before she ducked into a store alcove, Fitz could swear the minx looked slyly over her shoulder, just to make sure he saw where she went.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he came around the corner and stepped up into the alcove, Jemma pulled Fitz to her against the door of the lingerie store, balling her hands in his shirt.  “Am I so calm, Fitz?” she demanded breathlessly in his ear, echoing the words of the latest song that inspired her to grind away against him, straddled on his left thigh to the mournful rhythm. “Am I so fair?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure,” he responded, flummoxed, through his drunken fog, windmilling his hands wildly against the door and frame, knowing, at the very least, he had damn well better not go ass over teakettle, even if he didn’t know where exactly to put his hands on his best friend.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oooo, welll,” she purred, singing along with the song on the street far away, as she continued to pull him tighter, dancing against his body to the hypnotic beat. She ran her tongue under his jawline, her breath hot on his cheek. “Am I never going to find a man like you?” she further queried, in his ear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he could answer, she started kissing his neck.</span>
  <span> By</span>
  <span> some feminine trick, she had split her skirt apart, so Fitz could see how her thong had been pushed aside as she dragged herself up and down against his thigh. He watched as the flesh of her folds caught unevenly against the fabric of his trousers. He didn’t need to be a physicist to know that she sought more friction against her clit, the way she threw her head back as she ground against him in time to the NOLA melody with sultry deliberateness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was all he could do to brace himself to keep them balanced. He was about to pull back when the devil on his shoulder smacked him upside the proverbial head. Jemma Simmons was using his leg to get off on, in the middle of New Orleans. Was he seriously thinking about complaining about this?? It was a testament to how drunk he actually was that he had to actually consider the fact that shouldn’t he be asking what he could to assist her? His cock, growing quicker now and straining against his underwear seemed eager to help. Fitz glanced back, over his shoulder towards the street. To passers by, it would seem like the young couple were simply necking in the doorway, but if he dropped his pants, that illusion would be shattered. Ah want tae get intae her fanny so badly! his thoughts screamed, but that was impossible right now.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>This is not at all what he expected to be doing when they went to dinner tonight. Jemma had wrapped her hands around Fitz’s neck, as she ground her desperate pussy against the hard muscle of his thigh. Keeping one hand against the door, to support them both, he pulled her too-tempting-to-stretch shirt down and dove for the perky button in front of him. Even better than he imagined, her areola was pink and slightly puffy as he wound his tongue around her nipple, listening to her moan his name. This was most definitely not the friend zone. Not quite sure when the train had left that station, but he had every intention of never getting off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, no, they should get off, and as frequently as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of which, she started to buck in hard, short, quick thrusts. She let out a high pitched keen, followed by a shiver.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“FU-UCK…” she smiled at Fitz, then kissed him resoundly after several deep breaths. “That was fun.”
</span>
</p><p>
  “What was fun?” said a voice from the street.
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>
Fitz looked over his shoulder again to see three frat boys that weren’t in any better shape than he was. “Looking for some company?” They started to move toward them.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope, just had a problem with a shoe. Cinderella here is turning back into a pumpkin.” And with an arm firmly around a put-back together Jemma’s waist, Fitz set them off down the street. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Like so many others, who were looking for something to watch during the Covid pandemic, I discovered Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.  I binged the series once, and because I became completely entranced with FitzSimmons, I binged it again.  And then, I discovered that Iain DeCaestecker had taken a few other roles that I simply had to check out, compelling actor that he is, one of them being in the BBC's, Roadkill. </p><p>Well, sometimes, things just settle in and say, "HERE I AM!" and that's just what happened. It was a no brainer when these two songs from IDC's cast mate, Hugh Laurie's debut album, "Let them talk" popped up. Both "Let Them Talk" and "St. James Infirmary" seemed tailor made to accompany these friends becoming lovers through this chapter as Jemma begins to drag Fitz across the event horizon.</p><p>Hugh Laurie's full performance can be found here: https://youtu.be/o6Lrjjx1dT8 and the BBC did a full documentary on how Laurie came to record it. Unfortunately, I can't seem to grab the link, so maybe its no longer available on YouTube. It's hella interesting. Goes against my grain not to cite or provide original sources, but I've done the best I can in this situation. So Hugh Laurie and Band, thanks for that inspiration, as well as the performance venue in NOLA where it as filmed!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As they head back to the hotel, Fitz wonders what's really going on, not that Jemma lets him think too much about it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The walk back to the <a href="https://www3.hilton.com/en/hotels/louisiana/hilton-new-orleans-riverside-MSYNHHH/index.html">hotel</a> had been rather uneventful but definitely different. Once they left their audience behind, Fitz expected Jemma to let go of him, but she didn’t. They walked arm in arm, through the French Quarter.  In fact, Jemma had tucked into his shoulder almost immediately.  Once they got past their vocal admirers, she reached across Fitz to retrieve a bottle of water from his opposite pocket. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll hold, you twist,” Jemma instructed Fitz, indicating the bottle in front of him. They gulped it down by the time they were through <a href="http://www.experienceneworleans.com/jackson-square.html">Jackson Square</a>. Nature called by then too, so they decided to make a two am visit to <a href="https://shop.cafedumonde.com/history/">Café Du Monde</a> as well. There was something terribly sweet about having <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beignet">beignets</a> together, just the two of them over their remaining bottle of water. They expected to sober up a lot more than they actually did by then, so they did more people watching more than talking. They didn’t say much, but people watched more. They didn’t stay long, just enough to snarf down the small plate, and make a quick, second trip to the restroom that was welcome relief given all they imbibed that evening. Suddenly, the café was jammed, as bar goers with similar thoughts flooded the popular destination.</p><p> </p><p>This time, Jemma pulled Fitz through the drunken crowd out of the Café, back to Jackson Square to walk along Decatur, back to the hotel before the night disappeared altogether.  However she continued to pull him by the hand, grinning at him, step by deliberate step, as she walked backwards down the street, both of her hands on his one, almost as if she had to drag him along. Which wasn’t really the case, but she sure made it seem like it.  But like everything else that night, her actions seemed to be a lot…bigger… than they normally would be. No use talking to her until the alcohol wore off though. </p><p> </p><p>After a block or so, they passed the Square and crossed a street, Jemma found an excuse to be back under Fitz’s arm when they had to tighten up as they passed another group going the other way. A couple of blocks after that he felt her unceremoniously feel around, helping herself to unbutton his back trouser pocket so she could make herself comfortable by resting her fingers on his arse for the walk home. </p><p> </p><p>Welp, if he had any lingering doubts that he had made definite progress moving out of the friend zone after the alcove, he had more ample evidence now.  He wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but he wasn’t firmly there anymore. </p><p> </p><p>Mike Peterson, eat your heart out. </p><p> </p><p>The next question was how to really stay out of it for good.  Fitz was so deeply pondering the solution to that quandary that he didn’t even realize they stumbled into the hotel, never mind into the doorway by a dark hallway.</p><p> </p><p>“Shhhh!” she warned, as she straightened up on unsteady legs. She put her index finger up to her lips in warning. “Quiet!  People are sleeping,” she slurred, in her best Elmer Fudd imitation, always worried about others no matter where she was or what state she was in. “It’s going to be tough enough to slip into my room without waking up May.” That’s all they needed was to get on the bad side of Melinda, the supervisor she was rooming with. Maybe this time Simmons wasn’t being completely altruistic. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe I’m not as tipsy as I thought I was if I could still think of the world altruistic, he contemplated as he watched her start down the hall, swinging her hips. Wot the hell was with her tonight with swinging her hips? Did she always do that or was she just bent on short circuiting his brain?</p><p> </p><p>“We should be in bed…“ chided Fitz.</p><p> </p><p>Jemma turned, with a raised eyebrow and a smile.</p><p> </p><p>Turning pink, Fitz sputtered, “I mean, asleep…” </p><p> </p><p>Her knowing look deepened, “I know what you meant, Fitz.” She turned to continue down the hall. “Unfortunately..." she muttered to herself.</p><p> </p><p>Wot the HELL did she mean by "Unfortunately?" But he didn’t have any time to think about what she really meant as he looked around at the rooms on either side of the hallway. “Uh…Jemma, are you sure we’re in the right place?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m on the second floor,” she replied, almost reaching the end of the corridor.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but look.” Fitz pointed out the long expanses of floor to ceiling glass. “Director of Catering. I don’t think this is the right spot. This looks like the administrative offices.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, this is right, the door at the end goes through to my hallway.”</p><p> </p><p>Except it didn’t, when she went to push on the door. “Damn IT!” </p><p> </p><p>“What?” asked Fitz as he caught up to her. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s closed,” she pouted. “It was propped up open this afternoon. I don’t dare push on the door bar or look,” pointing up, “I’m liable to set off the alarm.”</p><p> </p><p>She turned to look at him, with an aggrieved but innocent expression on her face. She exhaled. Then suddenly, her face transformed with a sinful grin, as though she had figured out a solution to a problem that had been vexing her for some time. “There’s only one thing to do,” she said, matter of factly.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that?” he asked, completely unaware of what he had walked himself into.</p><p> </p><p>Before he could think gobble, Jemma dropped to her knees, pulled his belt apart, grabbed his cock and had it down her throat. </p><p> </p><p>“WOT THE BLOODY HELL?” His head hit the glass behind him with an audible crack that would have been disturbing had anyone been around, had it not been the wee hours of the morning and had his hands not found their way through in her hair. “What the fuck are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>She swirled her tongue around the tip of his prick, under his foreskin, before backing her lips off with a pop. “If I have to explain it to you, you’re pretty bad off. You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out,” patting his thigh with the hand that wasn’t holding his exposed member for emphasis. Jemma then took a breath and, pushing his foreskin gently back on the way, dove back all the way down his length.</p><p> </p><p>The last coherent thought Fitz had was she is out to kill me. And what a way to go. After that, his whole world was focused on the way her lips enveloped him, her tongue pressing against his shaft as she traveled up his length, sucking on him greedily.</p><p> </p><p>He felt her fingers twirl one ball in his sack, then tug slightly down before shifting to the other one, then palming both of them together. She kept up a maddeningly slow rhythm up and down him. Then she looked up, just before she took an even deeper breath and opened even wider. Gently, she moved her head side to side as she tried to take more of his length into her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>He looked down at her, his cock in her mouth and he thought he would explode. And he would have if she hadn’t taken her mouth off of him a split second later. “FUUUUCK, Jemma!” He tried to pull her up to kiss her.</p><p> </p><p>Still on her knees, she swatted his hands away. “I’m not done playing yet,” she said breathily. She ran her hands up and down on either side of him. “Mmm, like velvet…”</p><p> </p><p>He looked down as she rubbed one cheek against one side of his shaft, then switched sides, all while she played this palmy hacky sack thing with his balls. Then she pulled back his skin so she could run her tongue underneath his head, which was now shiny with glistening pre cum, lubricating the contact of her licks against this most sensitive area. Then wrapping her lips around the whole mushroom and she sucked. He let out an incoherent groan.</p><p> </p><p>“Should I stop? Too much?”</p><p> </p><p>“Again…HARDER!”</p><p> </p><p>She giggled in a teasing, girlish fashion. “Really? You sure? Cause I wouldn’t want to…” She barely got her mouth open as he shoved her head down over his head.  “Mmmm,” she murmured.</p><p> </p><p>“Wot?” he barely managed.</p><p> </p><p>She withdrew only slightly, licking her lips, where he could still feel her warm breath on his skin, slick from her spit. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.” Before he could process that bombshell, she did what he asked and sucked harder.</p><p> </p><p>“FUCK ME!” he bucked, but Jemma pushed him hard, back against the wall.</p><p> </p><p>“Not here,” she laughed, breathing heavy. “It was my turn to play. But since you’re so impatient…” she chided. She pushed his cock up against his groin, holding it there with the tip of her thumb. She licked him from the bottom of his balls to his tip, rounding the top of his crown, running her tongue into his slit. It made his eyes roll back in his head again, thrown back against the wall for a second time.</p><p> </p><p>She pressed her arm against his stomach to keep him against the wall. “I love how you twitch, every time my tongue touches you.” He felt her lips against his prick as she spoke these dirty yet sweet nothings to him. “How you’re so hard under such softness. How your skin glides over the shaft.” As she ran her fingers down his length, it brought his skin down with it, exposing his head. She ran her tongue around the bottom side of the head. “I love feeling the ridges here,” she murmured, her lips caressing the top of the crown as she spoke. “You’re so different, I can’t wait until I see what you really look like in the light…”</p><p> </p><p>Barely registering that revelation, his eyes felt like billiard balls the way she was making his eyes roll back in his head yet again. He really wanted to watch her but there was no way he could focus beyond feeling what she was doing to him, building closer to the edge another time.</p><p> </p><p>“You already seem to taste a bit less complex. Let’s find out, shall we?”</p><p> </p><p>With that, Jemma got down to business. She grabbed the base of Fitz’s cock, bringing it perpendicular to him, and dove onto it, swallowing it as far as she could go. On the out stroke, she followed with her hand, applying pressure, along with a twist. On the down stroke, she kept him slick, engaging all his nerves, and went down a little further each time. All the while, she kept fondling him.</p><p> </p><p>Fitz gazed down at the top of Jemma’s bobbing head, his eyes wide with disbelief. His balls were tightening, signaling his impending climax and that raw, animal part of him made him almost reach down to grab her head as he came… Almost. The decent part of him won the battle and he parted his lips to warn her, but his breathless mouth seemed incapable of forming words.</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t take much longer before she felt him hitch.</p><p> </p><p>“Jemma…”</p><p> </p><p>Stars formed on the edge of Fitz’s vision as he felt the pulses begin, rising up and out of him, his open mouth forming an O shape as he realized that she wasn’t taking her mouth away!</p><p> </p><p>He was a little surprised he only heard himself make a quiet “Oh oh…” before the spurts shot rapidly into her mouth. </p><p> </p><p>He vaguely heard her say, “I was correct, you do have a cleaner, less complex taste than some of my previous partners.” He watched her suck the last bit of cum off the end of his happily deflating member. “Certainly a bonus when it comes to a repeat performance,” she continued as she tucked him back into his pants. She zipped him up and tapped his fly, signaling she was all done. As if on autopilot, Fitz held out his arm to help her up, which Jemma finally allowed herself to take.</p><p> </p><p>He pulled her against him, and kissed her deeply, one hand in her hair, one arm around her waist, thrilled at tasting himself on her tongue. They snogged like the teenagers they barely were for what seemed like hours in that hallway, until Jemma broke away. She skipped back down where they came from.</p><p> </p><p>Fitz looked at her, confused and dumbfounded. “Jemma?  What are we playing at here?”</p><p> </p><p>She turned and looked at him. “We’re making memories.” She tilted her head at him, innocently. “What happens in NOLA, stays in NOLA. Do try to keep up, Fitz.” And with that and a swish of her skirt, she was out the door, leaving him to do that very thing.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There are still a couple of hours left in this magical night. While Fitz is wondering what will happen tomorrow, Jemma is thinking about what happens next...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fitz clattered down the stairs after Jemma, desperate to shake the cobwebs out of his head. It was definitely an unexpected night. One with no rulebook. As he lurched into the hotel lobby, the large analog clock on the wall ticked almost three forty in the morning. Jemma kept walking around saying what happened in NOLA, stayed in NOLA, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave everything that was happening here, here. He needed to catch up to Jemma before she managed to make it back to her room and before this magical night ended.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t just want a single night’s memory. He really did need to catch up and fast. He looked around to find Simmons talking to a bellman. He hurried across the vast space where the skeleton staff had almost completed wiping down the now empty bar and the long-deserted restaurant that would start to fill with scientists and hotel guests in a mere two hours.</p><p> </p><p>“…why it was open. So I have to go all the way around?” she said, obviously dismayed.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, unfortunately with the construction,” said the bellman. “Do you want me to accompany you?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, that’s okay, I’m sure he’ll be along in a moment,” said Jemma. “Speak of the devil, you made it. See, my friend here has finally caught up,” gesturing to Fitz. “He’ll watch out for me, won’t you?” She looked up at him and blinked Betty Boop-ish. When he didn’t respond with an immediate yes, she smacked him in the chest with the back of her hand and said, “Say yes, Fitz.”</p><p> </p><p>So, he said, “Yes Fitz,” like she told him to. </p><p> </p><p>She rolled her eyes and looked at the bellman. “Yes, perfectly safe, I’d say.”</p><p> </p><p>“Have a good night then.” The bellman smiled knowingly at the pair. “What’s left of it, anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks. Come on, you.” She grabbed Fitz’s hand and started to drag him toward the back lobby. “You can deliver me to my room and then get what little sleep there might be left to have. It’s past your bedtime.”</p><p> </p><p>Fitz did a double take, pointing the opposite direction. “But the elevators are at the other way.”</p><p> </p><p>"Yes, but MY elevators are this way now," Jemma continued as she pulled him toward the back lobby and the conference center. “If you weren’t doing such a good impression of a potted plant, you would have caught up faster. The reason my room was down with the administration offices was because half the floor is under construction. So if I want to get to my room at this time of night, I have to go this way, by the conference rooms, and up the long way. So you’re just going to have to walk me to my room all the bloody way around the hotel. So there," finally arriving at the elevators. Then she stuck her tongue out at him.</p><p> </p><p>And since what happens in NOLA stays in NOLA, and since he was rid of most of the cobwebs by that time and since the devil on his shoulder was finally doing a right job at kicking his arse into gear, Fitz finally stepped up, pulled Jemma against him and kissed her properly.</p><p> </p><p>After a long moment, he released her with a sigh. “You can’t stick that thing out at me and not expect me to go after it…” he grinned at her cheekily, pushing the button for the elevator.</p><p> </p><p>“About damn time you went after it, I’d say,” she responded. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, discretion is the better part of valor when it comes to attracting a lady.”</p><p> </p><p>“Part of being a woman is knowing when not to be too much of a lady,” Jemma observed as the pair got on the elevator.</p><p> </p><p>“I think we established that off of Bourbon …HEY!”</p><p> </p><p>“FITZ!” she objected at the same time, pounding on his chest.</p><p> </p><p>Fitz threw his hand up in supplication. “Hey! I’m not complaining, I’m thanking my lucky stars about…”</p><p> </p><p>“This is not helping your…”</p><p> </p><p>But Fitz threw caution to the wind, diving in to show Jemma that he certainly was thankful that she had taken the bull by the horns earlier in the night. Her kisses belied that she wasn’t really that upset with him in the least, with the ride in the elevator being way too short.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want this night to be over,” Jemma sighed, putting her head on Fitz’s shoulder, as they started walking down the hallway.</p><p> </p><p>Perfect opening. “Does it have to be?” he queried, thinking they were nearing her room and they could talk about what this meant for their real-life relationship. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, you have a roommate and I have a roommate, so there is that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah…” responded Fitz, not sure that was germane to their long term relationship.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmmm, well, where there is a will, there is a way,” she mused.</p><p> </p><p>“Jemma, I did not know you could have so many naughty looks,” he said warily.  She smiled coyly and grabbing his hand, pulled him into a trot, just a little way back the way they came down the hall. To his surprise, she stopped in front of what happened to be a fire exit that they previously passed. After looking both ways, she ducked in, dragging him with her. “Simmons…” he started to warn, waiting for the inevitable screech.</p><p> </p><p>But it wasn’t alarmed, just a stairwell. The hotel was a sizeable one, requiring several exits at varying intervals, not merely at the end of each hallway. This one happened to be in the middle of the corridor. Being near Jemma’s room, it wasn’t particularly useful because several floors were blocked off due to construction. Anyone using the stairwell wouldn’t know that until they got to the floor they wanted to exit onto, making it a dead end or/an unuseful staircase. </p><p> </p><p>Affording a modicum of privacy to a pair with roommates.</p><p> </p><p>The minx.</p><p> </p><p>“Jemma…” Fitz backed her up against the corner wall, careful to brace her impact, drinking the passionate kisses she gave him. Then he realized Jemma was multi-tasking again. “Christ, did I really think you were interested in Mike Peterson?” he mumbled, feeling her hands on his prick for the second time in his life.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s no secret you can be thick, Fitz,” she mumbled back, her lips never leaving his, “but not as thick as I’d like you to be, at the moment. But I’m working on it with ya,” as she continued to stroke his shaft with one hand and fondle his sack with the other. “But you’re young, I’m sure you have a short refractory period given enough inspiration. I aim to provide it.” He felt her lips smile, as she somehow managed to pull his cock and balls out of his pants, past the zipper of his trousers without raking him raw and out into the open air, all the while keeping his waistband buttoned and up. He couldn't help but smile back at how she helped herself to his naughty bits. He really kinda loved it. She continued to stroke him, but tightened her grip and adding a twist, inspiring these traitorous parts of his anatomy to want to secede from the union, leaping further into her hands. “Mmmmm, there…” she purred. “Like that.”</p><p> </p><p>Fitz had no idea how he was capable of a coherent thought. Maybe it was because Jemma had broken their kiss, to take a step back. After she pulled her bag off her shoulder, she started frantically digging into it, dropping discarded contents on the floor next to her until she triumphantly crowed “A-ha!” Eyes shining, she gleefully tore her prize open and turned toward him.</p><p> </p><p>“Jemma, it’s okay,” he said kindly, “We don’t have to…”</p><p> </p><p>“Fitz, this isn’t for you.” She pulled his hips toward her and proceeded to roll the prophylactic on him decisively. “This is for me. And if you don’t put that truly beautiful cock inside of me right now,” she informed him in no uncertain terms, in a deceptively calm voice, “I’m going to break it off and use it as a dildo.”</p><p> </p><p>She took three steps away from him to lean up against the wall. She then spun her skirt around so the slit that had been in the front, now faced the back. She turned to look over her shoulder. “Now...” she prompted impetuously, splitting the black panels of her skirt aside to reveal a delightfully creamy expanse of arse on her way to shimmy out of a blue mesh thong. Fitz stared, transfixed at the sight of the thin material, seeming to catch in the cleft of her pale cheeks as it was peeled away.</p><p> </p><p>His little brain must have been working on autopilot because the next thing he knew, he felt himself engulfed by tight heat as commanded, coupled with her high pitch whine, full of pleasure and relief. He pulled back, intending to rock into Jemma gently, only to be collided with a ramming force. And again.</p><p> </p><p>It was definitely an unexpected night. He had thought about making love to Jemma Simmons thousands of times. He never thought to bang her. Literally.</p><p> </p><p>Yet there he was but he wasn’t the one doing the banging. He held onto her hips for dear life as she bent down with her knees, then thrust back and up into him, pushing off the wall. “Please, Fitz,” she grunted. She took a hand off the wall to reach around to the back of his arse to pull him closer to her on her next thrust back against him. “Please,” she begged, “I need more…” dropping her head to her chest.</p><p> </p><p>Something clicked inside him. Something primal. It was now or never. To know that she <em>needed</em> <em>him</em> sent a thrill through him. He closed the distance to the wall, and without thinking, he had her spread her legs a bit wider. She gave that pleasure-relief whimper again, but this time it was tinged with expectation.  “Yessss,” she hissed.</p><p> </p><p>When he grabbed her hips this time, it was with purpose and while not fast, he thrust into her with an equal counter force that made her arse jiggle. Jemma’s whole vocabulary became reduced to a single word every time their flesh mashed together, so he must have made a reasonable improvement. Looking down, it was incredible to see himself disappear between her luscious globes. He slowed down slightly but kept up the force, so he could pull her cheeks apart to watch himself go into and out of her lips, which seemed to cling to the flesh of his cock, as he pulled away with each backstroke. He was fascinated by the new pitch of her whimper this elicited. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Fitz…”</p><p> </p><p>“Good?”</p><p> </p><p>“Very,” her breath hitched on his in-thrust, but then she continued, “good…”</p><p> </p><p>When she responded like that, and as erotic as they looked together, it was a small wonder he wasn’t off like a shot. In fact, he was expecting to be at any moment or would be if…ah, that little minx. She’s a smart one, his Jemma.</p><p> </p><p>With the realization he wasn’t going pop off like a bottle rocket at New Year's, he was more inclined to give in to Jemma’s demands for ‘more,’ but not the way she originally intended.</p><p> </p><p>He came in closer, changing his pattern to rock into her more gently as he planned on initially, only adding a forceful thrust at uneven intervals to keep her off balance. When she started to protest, as he knew she would, he was already on his way to wrapping his left arm around her waist, stretching his body against her back, his right arm, down hers to entwine with her fingers. He laid kisses across her shoulders. “Oh…” she started to warm to this new phase, as he took control of her body.</p><p> </p><p>He whispered in her ear, “Trust me?” She nodded. “Then shush…”</p><p> </p><p>Fitz stood up, or at least as far as he could go without sliding out, taking Jemma with him against his chest. He slid his hand up underneath her shirt, his thumb and index fingers knowing exactly where to find her nipples. “Oh my, that feels so…”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m glad you like it,” he smiled, still kissing her back. “I hoped you would.”</p><p> </p><p>After a bit, Fitz felt Jemma’s hand creep south. “Oh no, missy,” he went back to whispering in her ear, while he intercepted the errant limb, “if this is looking to be helpful, it can hold aside yer skirt for me. And you,” he held up his fingers of his other hand to her mouth, “can slick me up. Apparently, I have a job to do.”</p><p> </p><p>His tongue darted out over the curve of her ear at the same time her tongue darted out over his index and middle fingers, which was not unlike what she had done to his cock an hour earlier. It remembered because it twitched inside of her. If it was possible, he thought he hardened a bit more. She wrapped her lips around them leaving a copious amount of her salvia behind, squeezing before letting them go, and at the same time, squeezing his cock. Where he removed his fingers from her mouth, he moved his cock into her more deeply, and added his fingers to her clit, rubbing them in circles. “Like that?” he whispered huskily.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh-huh…” Jemma had thrown her head against his shoulder, and now had a foot braced up on the pipe that was coming up out of the floor in the corner. “Just like…thaaat…”</p><p> </p><p>Fitz continued, praying that he didn’t lose that all important spot, knowing how delicate these things were, unable to watch for the telltale signs, both because of the angle he was in and the lousy light in the hallway. Not to the mention the first time being intimate with Simmons.</p><p> </p><p>But luck continued to be a lady for him that night as he felt Jemma spasm within him and without. He stroked her clit lightly, as if it really were a kitty, his other arm around her at breast level holding her up. But she struggled to get away again. “Fitz, I really need…” He looked down at her, concerned. She looked up at him and kissed him deeply. “You. A clitoral orgasm turns everything on for me. Everything. Give me everything you’ve got. Please.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are ye sure?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>He kissed her on the nose and let out a deep breath. “Okay…” He pushed her over against the wall and proceeded to plow into her. By now, he wasn’t afraid of hurting her nor was he afraid that it wasn’t something she didn’t want. Now, he was wondering if he was going to break this ‘truly beautiful cock’ of his. Because he’d like to offer its service for use again. Especially if it could be anything close to a repeat performance.</p><p> </p><p>No matter, he was an engineer, he’d figure out how to fix it. Let’s just get this job done satisfactorily, which appeared to be on the way, by the sound of it. Flesh slapping hard at quick intervals echoed through the chamber, followed by deep grunts he hardly recognized as his own and sharp squeals belonging to Simmons. Finally, his mind blanked when his release came, pulsing into her.</p><p> </p><p>Twin exhales of heavy breathing now filled the cavern with awkwardness where passion had lived moments before. His head heavy on her back, his hands still on her hips, her hands still on the wall, he had no idea what to do next. He wished he could roll over with her like after incredible sex deserved to have and this obviously was. But this was not the place though Jemma was no doubt the best partner he’d ever had, not that there was a long list of them.</p><p> </p><p>It was definitely not what he expected. At the very least, he expected to be facing her. “Uh, Jemma, I, um…”</p><p> </p><p>“Fitz,” she said at the same time, “I just want to say thank you…”</p><p> </p><p>This was how many times she made his eyes goggle tonight? She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it as he pitched them both forward a bit. His voice rose a bit. “Did you just thank me for having sex with you? While I’m still inside you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, yes,” she said with a sheepish grimace. “I really needed that,” she continued in a tone that conveyed how much she hated admitting such a base biological need. “I just got the feeling that you weren’t interested in anything quite that…athletic,” she ended delicately.</p><p> </p><p>“Athletic? Athletic? Simmons! You would have had me pound you right into the pavement if you had your druthers.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, and it was wonderful…” It was difficult to miss the size of the smile in her voice. </p><p> </p><p>Fitz squinted into his hand. “What am I going to do with you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I suppose next time, it’s your choice of location and position.” </p><p> </p><p>Leave it to Simmons to be utterly practical at a time like this. Did the woman even have a romantic bone in her body? “Wait, you’re saying there’s going to be a next time?”</p><p> </p><p>“What kind of girl do you think I am?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you’re the one who’s been walking around all night saying what happens in NOLA, stays…”</p><p> </p><p>It was at the very moment that the inevitable occurred while they weren’t paying attention. Not only did Fitz slip out of Jemma, but the condom slipped off of Fitz, landing on the concrete between them with a splat.</p><p> </p><p>“Eww,” they said together, looking down at the mess. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, you’re going to have to take care of that,” Jemma declared, throwing her blue thong over it. “I haven’t got any pockets.”</p><p> </p><p>“Seriously?” Fitz objected. “I’m sure this is not the first time a used rubber has been left behind in this hallway.”</p><p> </p><p>“If I have to come down this staircase on the way to the gym to see that tomorrow, the whole conference is going to know what Fitz Simmons did whether it was supposed to stay in NOLA or not,” a voice echoed down from above them, “so I better not.” And a door slammed shut.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As the night ends and the new days begins, just what does will stay in NOLA as a sweet memory and what will change FitzSimmons forever?</p><p>Remember to right click on the links to open in a separate window.</p>
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    <p> </p><p>Jemma slapped her hand over mouth as her eyes opened wide as saucers. Fitz turned as pink as cotton candy as he barely croaked, “Who do you think that was?”</p><p> </p><p>“I have no idea but,” as she started collecting her things, “I think we better go.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Fitz agreed, unbuckling his trousers to put himself back together. When he looked back up, Jemma was suddenly wearing the same outfit that she had worn to the reception.  He sputtered, “How did you do that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Do what?”</p><p> </p><p>He pointed at her clothes. “That! It’s totally different.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll explain later.” She pointed at her thong on the concrete. “Take care of that and let’s go.”</p><p> </p><p>He supposed it was his to deal with, tying a knot in the condom that was hidden under the blue delicate. He started to shove the whole thing in his pocket, then thought the better of it, not wanting it to leak all over the place. How the hell did he manage to shoot that much of a load the second time? He slowed down to gently place it securely in until he could get to a bin to dispose of it. Ever prepared Jemma had tissues to wipe up his hands at the end of the whole operation as they quietly made their way into the hallway. </p><p> </p><p>The time on Fitz’s smartwatch read four forty-seven as they approached Jemma’s room. “It’s been quite the night, hasn’t it?” he said, as he watched Jemma pull up a piece of the floor, her wrap skirt easily accommodating her cross-legged sitting position. It was sexy as hell knowing she didn’t think twice about it even though her knickers were in his pocket.</p><p> </p><p>“Almost doesn’t seem worth it to go in,” she said, tapping the floor for Fitz to join her.</p><p> </p><p>“How so?”</p><p> </p><p>“Melinda is usually out the door for morning workout around five am. You know, if she finds us both here when she comes out, we might not both get twenty questions about being out all night. She’ll just zoom on by to her workout.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not that we’re not adults...” retorted Fitz, clearly thinking that May wasn’t going to be asking anyway. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, everyone keeps forgetting that.”</p><p> </p><p>Jemma dug into her bag on her shoulder, pulling out a notebook and a mechanical pencil.  She flipped it open to a page with a diagram on it. “So, I was working on…”</p><p> </p><p>But Fitz interrupted her. “How do you do that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Do what?” she asked him.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve got everything in that bag. What else are you going to pull out of there next? The kitchen sink? A monkey? A hairy german shepherd?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not Hermoine, I can’t keep fantastical beasts in it,” Jemma laughed. “But it is amazing what I can fit in my Mary Poppins Bag, isn’t it? It’s really quite useful, for someone that excels at preparation. It actually expands one more size, if you can believe it. If I’m careful, I can get everything I need for a three-day weekend in here.”</p><p> </p><p>Just then the door opened. At five am on the dot, Jemma’s roommate Melinda May exited the room, wearing work out clothes. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” she drawled. “Have a good time last night?”</p><p> </p><p>Fitz sputtered. He didn’t realize that women were as bad as men in the giving grief department. Or he was hoping it was something that people eventually grew out of it. Apparently not. </p><p> </p><p>However, it seemed that Jemma was once again prepared. “I didn’t want to wake you when I came in,” Jemma said, gesturing to her pad, “besides we were wrapped up in an interesting conversation about an idea I had.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nice try,” May said wryly, as the older but decidedly fit woman made her way down the hall. “Next time put more effort into your cover story. That won’t get you through your field assessments at all.” </p><p> </p><p>“That went well, don’t you think?” Jemma said, after the older woman was out of sight.</p><p> </p><p>“You call that well?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” she said, standing up. “I do. We didn’t actually say what we actually did, now did we? I’d say that went swimmingly.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, what are you going to tell her when she comes back?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to avoid the question as much as humanly possible. You know I’m a terrible liar, Fitz. It’s much easier to let other people do the lying for me,” she chirped, like it was the most natural conclusion for him to have already made based on the evidence she had presented to him.</p><p> </p><p>Except it didn't. The lack of sleep was certainly catching up with him. “You’re not making any sense, Simmons.”</p><p> </p><p>She let out an exasperated breath. “If people knew half of what I actually did or didn’t do, they’d think completely differently of me, now wouldn’t they? And that includes you, Fitz. You certainly wouldn’t believe half of what happened tonight, would you?” </p><p> </p><p>“No. I. Would. Not," he shook his head to each side with each word for emphasis.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright then. It’s much simpler to let people think that I’m sweet, innocent Jemma Simmons. It makes my life a lot easier. I get away with a lot more. And people expect a lot less from me.  But every now and again, ya just gotta let go, you know?” </p><p> </p><p>“But you’re my best friend! How did I not know this?” Fitz continued to be thunderstruck at Jemma’s confession. </p><p> </p><p>Jemma shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno? Haven’t exactly been keeping it a secret. But haven’t exactly been waving a flag about it either.” She reached up on her toes to kiss his cheek gently. Then she patted his chest twice, with a gesture of finality as though she had made a decision of some sort. “It’s okay, Fitz, I understand.”</p><p> </p><p>“You understand?” he repeated.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I understand, my sweet best friend,” she smiled up at him, almost sadly. She cupped his cheek tenderly. “You are, you know. My best friend. And I love you dearly. I know change is hard for you, so I won’t ask you to.” He thought her eyes looked almost chocolate as they darted around his face, almost like she was taking inventory. He had the distinct impression like she was making sure she didn’t forget something. “This was a wonderful, glorious, magical, magnificent night that I will always treasure. Thank you. And I promise, it won’t change us. No matter what. We’ll stay just friends.”  </p><p> </p><p>She pulled one of the two strings of dice-shaped beads over her head, and placed it over his neck. She kissed him softly on the lips before saying, “I bought the beads for Bobbi and Sally. We just didn’t correct the conclusion everyone jumped to. I had a wonderful time.” And she scooted into her room, leaving him standing in the hallway.<br/>
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<br/>
Alone.</p><p> </p><p>Again. </p><p> </p><p>By himself. </p><p> </p><p>No.</p><p> </p><p>No. and No.</p><p> </p><p>No, No, NO!</p><p> </p><p>No doubt he probably woke someone up from another audible crack against the gypsum, as he butted against it in a typical Glasgow kiss.</p><p> </p><p>No, no, no, no, no and NO. She had just told him it was easier to let people come to their own conclusions. He was so thick and not in the way either he or Jemma wanted him to be. Had he just spunked away the chance to be with the girl of his dreams? Surely he was going to have a concussion by the time the sun came up from the number of times his head hit the number of walls of this hotel.</p><p> </p><p>Ugh, Fitz! He heard her say his mind. His mind replayed how she had first made a memory, then said her goodbye and then somehow, some way, put him back in the friend zone where she thought he was most comfortable. </p><p> </p><p>This could not be happening. </p><p> </p><p>Absolutely. Could. NOT. BE. HAPPENING. If someone looked under his hair, he was probably black and blue, but at this point, Fitz simply didn’t care.</p><p> </p><p>He had a pile of work to do before the plenary session started this morning. There was no way he was going to leave New Orleans with only memories of Jemma. He knew better now. </p><p> </p><p>&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>The bright-eyed Young Professionals that went to dinner on Wednesday night looked decidedly more rugged at the coffee station on Thursday morning before the final plenary of the conference. Amazingly all eleven of them made it with twenty minutes to spare, though some were in worse shape than others.</p><p> </p><p>Fitz had just walked out of the ballroom where he had dropped his belongings to see Mike limp through the main foyer. “What happened?” he asked, as he joined the larger man.</p><p> </p><p>The pair bellied up to the breakfast bar to grab the caffeine both obviously needed in copious amounts. “Oh, it’s embarrassing, man. You’re not going to believe it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Try me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I fell off a curb.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wot?” said Fitz, lighting chuckling at the image starting to take form.</p><p> </p><p>“Really, he did,” Sally concurred, walking up with Jemma and Milton. Fitz, doing his best to be cool all around, gave them a “you gotta be joking” look of disbelief in their general direction. </p><p> </p><p>Milton continued the story. “We were changing bars and the next thing we know, there is Mike, laying flat out on his ass in the middle of Bourbon Street.”</p><p> </p><p>Fitz watched as Jemma tapped Sally on the shoulder to indicate she was heading to settle in, walking with the two remaining couples who had just walked up who had seen Mike’s ass over teakettle move live. That he and Jemma almost had that same drunken New Orleans tradition too was not something Fitz about to 'fess up to publicly. Moving on, he still couldn’t remember any one of the couples' four names for the life of him, but Sally and the other two women had no problem reeling Jemma into their version of Mike’s exploits from last night as they walked away. With fifteen minutes to start, it wasn't surprising that she’d want to prepare. As casual as he could, he pivoted to watch them walk into the ballroom, as Mike continued his story.</p><p> </p><p>“Needless to say, I felt like an idiot,” Mike lamented, “especially because this one and Sally decided to take me back to the hotel immediately for which I am grateful. And the only reason I am actually walking is because they conned the management into letting us into the pool at O dark thirty and got the swelling down. How ‘bout you?” gesturing to Fitz.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, last I saw, I looked up out the window, saw your ass buzzing down Bourbon after Jemma. Did you finally catch her, buddy?” Milton cackled, clapping Fitz on the back. But as that exact moment coincided with Fitz taking a sip of coffee, Milton pretty much sent the searing hot coffee down the wrong side of his gullet, right into his lungs. Milton was Public Enemy Number One as far as Fitz was concerned, ya wankfuck...</p><p> </p><p>“Milton, don’t you know a gentleman never kisses and tells?” quipped Bobbi, as she stopped by the table, simultaneously saving Fitz from providing an explanation while trying not to die of asphyxiation. As he continued to cough, doubled over trying to catch his breath, she asked in concern, “You okay there?” leaning over to rub his back with one hand, grabbing a muffin with the other. </p><p> </p><p>“Aye,” he managed to croak after a moment, looking up from his crouch to give Milton a hairy eyeball.  “Thanks,” he gasped her way, still recovering.</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” she replied to him. But then she gave him a decidedly cheeky shit-eating grin and winked at him. Fitz damn near started choking all over again at Bobbi’s unspoken admission of catching him in the hallway! “Y’all got seven minutes, better finish up.” She pecked Lance on the cheek, who had arrived to see Fitz’s impression of a human tomato. “I’ll save you a seat.” And she was off with a shimmy in a well fitting pinstripe suit and heels.</p><p> </p><p>Lance whistled softly. “Oo, I hate to see her go, but I love to watch her leave. Mmm, mm!” </p><p> </p><p>“Well, look at you,” cooed Mike. </p><p> </p><p>Lance preened, buffing his nails proudly on his pecs. “I guess I have the story of the night. I walked out of <a href="https://www.caesars.com/harrahs-new-orleans/casino/table-games#.YCSTJmhKhPY">Harrah</a>’s this morning with eight hundred bucks, a blonde and an invitation to Miami. Anyone top that?” the officer laid the challenge on the table. </p><p> </p><p>Fitz was pretty sure he could, but he’d much rather fold and lose this hand since he had his chips in a different pot entirely. One he had every intention of winning, not that he needed reminding by the aforementioned blonde. </p><p> </p><p>And since time was ticking and having finally gathered enough breath again, he judged it was his opportunity to make a discrete escape. But he did have one last thing to do here. He dug in his pocket and pulled out of the bit of green plastic he had been carting around all night. He scooped up his coffee cup, putting the danish plate on top of it. “I guess you got me beat. ‘Got to get in there. But, Mike, um, this, I believe this is yours.” He handed over the grenade, swearing he could see the darker man blush. “And while I’m incredibly flattered…”</p><p> </p><p>“...say no more,” Mike finished. “Story of my life.”</p><p> </p><p>“Would it help if I said,” Fitz commiserated, as he turned to leave, scooping up the hot water cup in his second hand, “I know exactly how it feels to be stuck in the friend zone?”</p><p> </p><p>“A little. No hard feelings?” Mike said as Fitz crossed the foyer toward the ballroom.</p><p> </p><p>“None,” said Fitz. And just before he entered, he called back to Mike, Lance and Milton.  “Safe travels if I don’t see you…” They murmured back like good wishes before continuing their conversation.</p><p> </p><p>The plenary was a rather substantive room, set up classroom style, with chairs and tables in each row with two large screens on either side of the center dais and podium. He and Jemma had scoped out their seats on the first day. It had been a compromise, because where Jemma would have been happy to be right under the speaker’s nose, Fitz liked to have some perspective. Plus he had a habit of pacing during the long morning sessions. So they tended to look for seats up front near the end of the row. Since humans are creatures of habit, by the third day, attendees pretty much knew whose seats belonged to whom for the duration of the conference.</p><p> </p><p>As he walked up the side aisle, he saw Jemma right where he expected, at ‘her’ seat, a yellow rose with red tips pushed in her nose, eyes closed in bliss. The image couldn’t have been more perfect. He came up quietly, carefully placing cups down trying not to disturb her, placing the hot water cup in front of her. But she knew he was there.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s lovely,” she said as he sat down.</p><p> </p><p>“You like?” His eyes beamed. </p><p> </p><p>“Very much.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then I’m glad what happened in NOLA isn’t staying in NOLA.”</p><p> </p><p>She cocked her head, indicating she didn’t understand what he was talking about.</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t think about that particular rose, did you?” he scolded mildly.  She shook her head no.</p><p> </p><p>It was his turn to roll his eyes. They were a right pair, they were. Made for each other, that was for sure. They could dive into the most minute scientific detail down to the fifth decimal place, but they’d miss that they should consider something so obvious right in front of them. Maybe that’s what I should be for next Halloween, he thought as he turned down the contrast on his phone. He wondered just what the costume was for Captain Obvious. Well, he was done flubbing around.   </p><p> </p><p>As the lights dimmed, Jemma had turned her attention to the front as the conference organizer droned on and on in required thanks for the copious amounts of food, alcohol, coffee, nibbles, doodads and other various and sundries from the endless array of sponsors and benefactors that had fueled the meeting’s activities over the past several days. Knowing there wasn’t anything terribly important that she would miss, he pulled up the website he found as he left her room early that morning and made doubly sure the sound was off before bumping her shoulder. She looked at him quizzically as she took his phone. She held it down low in her lap, blocked by the table, to see ‘rose color meanings’.  </p><p> </p><p>There on the list, clear as day, were <a href="https://www.goodhousekeeping.com/holidays/valentines-day-ideas/g1352/rose-color-meanings/?slide=4">yellow roses with red tips</a>. He watched her eyes glide over the words he had already memorized. Leave it to Good Housekeeping to say what he meant: <em> When yellow roses have red tips, however, they take on an entirely different meaning. These multicolor roses <a href="https://www.fiftyflowers.com/blog/rose-color-meanings/"> mean </a> "falling in love," so they're perfect for a new relationship — especially if you two were friends first. </em></p><p> </p><p>Something so visually simple yet deceptively complex. Sleek, elegant, refined. This was an engineer’s love language that together said so much. He could only hope that Jemma would realize what it took to find that flower at that time of morning in the middle of New Orleans, get back to the hotel, deliver it to “her spot” and pack in what? Ninety minutes? And he managed to shower too? He wasn’t quite sure how he managed it himself. Sleep was overrated.</p><p> </p><p>Fitz watched for a tense moment, after which Jemma carefully slid his phone down on the table between them. She picked the rose up again and smelled it, eyes closed. “Where there is a will, there is a way,” she whispered softly. </p><p> </p><p>And he knew, she knew. They both did.</p><p> </p><p>“Indeed,” he finished, barely audible.  </p><p> </p><p>She snaked her foot over to twine around his calf. He casually made like he was shifting positions to get more comfortable to listen more attentively to the keynote introduction, that really moved him closer to her. He dug a bag of earl grey out of his blazer pocket and slid it over toward her, knowing that she probably didn’t really care that the water had become too cool to steep. It was the gesture that he had remembered this detail as well that was important. </p><p> </p><p>Neither one stopped smiling through the entire morning. </p><p> </p><p>Or until the plane took off. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come talk to me on Tumblr @IBAgent16!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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